


Desiderium (Alternatively: "Better than Blood" Edited Version)

by Elvesliketrees



Category: Bonanza
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Amnesia, Crack Treated Seriously, Fluff and Crack, Gen, I Don't Even Know, Kidnapping, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Not Canon Compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-02
Updated: 2020-06-13
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:47:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 12,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24511801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elvesliketrees/pseuds/Elvesliketrees
Summary: John Armstrong is a drifter who's completely innocent of the shooting of Benjamin Cartwright. The rumors, not at all helped by the man himself, that he is the long lost Adam Cartwright are completely unfounded. Whether or not Cartwright senior embraces these rumors enthusiastically has no bearing on the matter. Now if only he could buy a stage ticket to get back home to San Francisco.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9





	1. John Armstrong I

**Author's Note:**

> I'm back! After a long hiatus, I have once again picked up my pen! This work is actually the edited version of an older story that I posted on AO3 titled "Better Than Blood". The stories are not related to one another, other than the fact that this an edited draft of the older version. The first draft will unfortunately not be continued, though it is still up for reading.

I lay on the cot, listening to them hammer the boards together for the gallows. The sky was beginning to grow grey with the approaching dawn. The hammering was growing more and more sporadic, they must have nearly finished it. Soon enough, the old sheriff would be by. He’d ask if there was any need for a preacher. I’d already requested that all of my measly possessions be sent on to Will with word of what happened. It might not even be necessary to send word. This could make the papers in San Francisco. Robberies were common things here, with only one aging sheriff and no marshal or deputies. However, the story of the notorious drifter that came and shot the biggest landowner in the Utah Territory would make a good headline. They’d go on about how unfair it was, that a young, unimportant drifter like me should rid the community of such an esteemed man. Not that I’d actually gone and done it, of course.

There was the sound of boots outside the cell and I slowly sat up. The old sheriff came walking in, bearing a cup of coffee and a pen and paper. He unlocked the cell and set the tray down before locking the door again.

“Write to anyone you feel the need to, boy. You need a preacher?” he asked. I shook my head. The man only grunted before walking out of the room again. I could hear the sounds of people moving around outside. Everyone must have gotten up extremely early to see the murderer hang. I looked down at the paper and sighed. How was I even to begin to explain this? I tried to scratch out a few piddling niceties, let them know about how sorry I was and that how I was sure that everything would be just fine. No. I crumpled the paper and tossed it to the other side of the cell. Will would just have to understand. We usually understood one another pretty well, Will and I. Perhaps it’s because Charlie would barrel right through anything other than a completely united front. No, little brother would understand and explain it to baby brother the best he could. Not that it would make it hurt any less. The dollar that I managed to scrimp and save might manage to make things a bit better, though.

The sheriff came back with another man, probably someone that he pulled out of the gathering crowd outside. The man held a rifle on me while the sheriff tied my hands behind my back. The sheriff looked down at the tray and frowned.

“No letter?” I only shook my head. The man patted my shoulder, probably assuming that I had no one to write to. With a sigh, he grabbed my arm and started to lead me outside. Out in the street, there was already a large crowd gathered around. The gallows were a ramshackle thing. They’d probably never had to build one officially. The sheriff straightened up and began to lead me down the street and up to the gallows. There was a solemnness in the slowness of our gait. The man was probably so proud of himself for actually locking me up before the lynch mob got word and strung me up. I wondered if they’d ever had a legal hanging in the town before this. We were almost at the steps before there was the sound of yelling from behind the crowd. Suddenly, a man pushed his way forward to the front and ran up to the sheriff and me. He began yelling at the sheriff and grabbed my arm, yanking hard. I almost fell over and the sheriff finally yanked me back and out of the man’s reach.

“Hop Sing!” he said, his hand dropping down to his side arm. 

“No! Listen to me! Doc Martin said that he is bringing Mr. Cartwright to town! You cannot hang the boy until Mr. Cartwright speaks!” the man said, trying to dart around the sheriff. There was a murmur from the crowd at this statement.

“Old Ben’s awake?” the sheriff asked. The man nodded. At this, there was a general cheer from the crowd and some congratulatory back slapping. As if they hadn’t been about to watch me dance at the end of a rope. The sheriff barked at one man to make sure that the circuit judge didn’t leave on the stage, and I was unceremoniously dumped back into my cell. The man fidgeted in front of me and I fought the urge to bang my head against the bars.

“I am sorry about this, Mr. Armstrong. It’s just that Mr. Cartwright wasn’t awake for the trial, and the judge may very well want to talk to him,” the sheriff said. Yes, how unusual that the judge would want to talk to the only living witness to the robbery where I’d so viciously gunned someone down! I merely nodded at the man, who left and went back to his business in the front room. Soon enough, there were some cheers from the street. Cartwright must have arrived. A few minutes later, the sheriff opened up the door. The man from before, Hop Sing, was helping someone along. The man being helped was older, with a shock of grey hair. His arm was up in a sling and I could see some bandages poking up from under his shirt. Cartwright, or I at least assumed it was Cartwright, was very pale. There was another man supporting Cartwright’s other side, with a black bag dangling from his arm. Probably the doctor. They finally brought the stumbling Cartwright to a chair and settled him down. I stood up a little straighter, my hands still tied behind my back, and looked the man in the eye. Cartwright didn’t even deign to look at me, instead choosing to close his eyes and lean back against the chair.

It seemed hours before the flustered judge was finally escorted into the jail. The man sat down in the chair the sheriff brought him, refused two separate offers of coffee, and looked at me with the same stern gaze that he had at the trial.

“Mr. Cartwright, it’s good to see you awake. Are you ready to give your testimony?” the man asked. Cartwright nodded, still not opening his eyes. In a raspy whisper, the man told the judge how someone had come into the general store, robbed it, gunned down the owner, and then proceeded to shoot him. 

“Thank you, Mr. Cartwright. Now, do you know what the man looked like?” the judge asked. The sheriff was over in the corner, hastily scribbling notes in a book.

“Yes. Didn’t….he didn’t wear a ‘kerchief,” Cartwright rasped, eyes still closed.

“Thank you, Mr. Cartwright, one more question. Do you recognize the man in front of you as the murderer?” the judge asked. Cartwright blinked and finally looked up at me. He gazed at me confusedly and then looked at the judge.

“That isn’t him, judge. Man who did it was older and had fair hair,” he said with a sigh. He slumped back farther into the chair, as if this statement had sapped all of his strength. It probably had. The man looked near death.

“Told you folks that I didn’t do it. Ran in there to help after I heard the shots,” I said. Cartwright nodded before stopping. He slowly raised his head up again and blinked at me. He wiped his eyes and stared at me, as if trying to see into the depths of my soul. It was unnerving, to say the least.

“A-Adam?” he asked hesitantly. Beside Cartwright, the doctor stiffened.

“Don’t know an Adam,” I said, “Name’s John Armstrong.”

“Adam,” the man said, his voice stronger this time. He even tried to move up from the chair, only for the doctor and Hop Sing to intervene.

“Ben,” the doctor said, “Ben, he’s-that’s not Adam. C’mon now, you need to rest. Let the judge get this straightened out.”

“Yes, I have no more need of you, Mr. Cartwright. Thank you for your time,” the judge said softly. Hop Sing and the doctor got the man out of chair and led him to the door. Cartwright stared at me until I couldn’t see him anymore. The judge turned back towards me and I could actually see a small smile on his face.

“Mr. Armstrong, yesterday evening you waived your right to a trial by jury, which allowed me to pass your sentence. That sentence was guilty on two counts, one of murder and one of attempted murder,” the judge said.

“Yes, judge,” I said.

“Due to the new evidence that has come forth, I have reconsidered my verdict. Mr. John Armstrong, on the count of murder, I found you not guilty. On the count of attempted murder, I find you not guilty. You are to be released from your incarceration immediately. Sheriff?” the judge said. The sheriff scribbled down something in his book and opened up the cell. He stepped behind me and started to unbind my hands. The judge simply got up and left, probably to catch the next stage. The sheriff led me back to the front office and I was directed towards a chair in front of his desk. I nibbled on a sandwich and had some coffee while he filled out some paper. After I was finished, he slid the paper towards me on the desk.

“We have to provide a letter, whenever you’re cleared of charges,” the sheriff said. Ah. Of course. I slowly reached over and ran a hand across the paper. The sheriff’s signature was still glistening on the wet page, and I found myself near tears over a small slip of paper. The sheriff muttered something about going and getting my gun and soon enough I had all of my things back. The man walked me out the door and I stopped when I found the large crowd gathered round outside. They were all staring up at me, and the gallows in the background cast a shadow on the street.

“Alright folks, nothing to see here! Hangings been cancelled, judge’s orders!” the sheriff said. There was a dark muttering at this but most of them went on home, the sheriff shepherding a few of the more stubborn souls along. He went back inside the office and shut the door, not even bothering to say “good afternoon”. I sighed and looked around the dusty town. I went over to the stables to look in on my horse. The old animal was perfectly content and I was relieved that I’d already put up two dollars to board him for a week just two days ago. Maybe the man would give me some money back if I didn’t use all of the days. I highly doubted it. I walked over to the stage office and was promptly informed that it was a thirty dollar fare to see me back to San Francisco. The dollar I had was far too light in my pocket and I debated on if it was worth the effort to look for a job. Letter or no letter, these people would probably whisper about the drifter who got away with murder for years to come. No. There would be no work for me here.

It was near sundown when I reluctantly made my way over to the saloon. Selling my horse and its trappings had gotten me ten dollars, and my side arm had gotten me five. Sixteen dollars in hand, which was nearly our rent for a month back in San Francisco, I pushed open the door of the saloon. Luckily for me, a poker game was just getting started. Two miners and three men dressed like a cowhands were gathered around a deck of cards. I sat down in the last chair and drew ten dollars out of my pocket.

“You that boy they were gonna hang?” one of the miners asked quietly.

“Maybe. Money’s money mister, deal me in,” I said. The man only grunted and did as I bid. Luck was with me that night. I wasn’t a bad poker player, but I certainly wasn’t very good. However, one cowhand was a horrible player and the miner who had first spoken to me seemed like he was just in it for the fun and a few drinks. I bought a few rounds of whiskey, and both the cowhands and the first miner were appeased. The second miner, while the best poker player out of the five of them, was the sorest loser. Soon enough, I had forty dollars in front of me and we were starting to gather a crowd. I knew not to test my luck and got up as soon as I had the forty dollars. That would get me back home and pay for some supplies as well.

“You cheated!” the second miner hissed.

“Now Frank, I ain’t seen nothing of the sort, and I’ve been watching that boy close after his first ten dollars,” the first miner said.

“But nothing, Billy! That’s a weeks’ pay for me and you, and half of Tom’s! I ain’t gonna let you cheat me out of my hard work, mister!” Frank said, his face growing red.

“I won this, fair and square! You heard Mr. Billy, I haven’t cheated!” I said, “Besides, I’m done! It was fun, gentlemen, but I have a stage to catch in the morning.” I started to scoop up my winnings, only for my wrist to be encased in a bruising grip. A red-faced Frank squeezed my wrist and I hissed. There was a rumbling from the crowd and I knew that it was time to leave.

“You ain’t got no proof, mister!” I said. Not that he would find any. With that, any patience that Frank had vanished. A fist slammed into my jaw and I got flung backwards. I crashed into a table and found myself falling to the floor. I was hauled up and a fist drove itself into my ribs. I grunted and tried to squirm away, but the man’s grip was too strong. I got flung into the bar and smacked my head on the wooden structure. Frank grabbed me again and I raised my hands to protect my face as he rained blows down upon my ribs. Finally, the brutal onslaught stopped and I could hear a good bit of yelling from the miner. The sheriff, wonderful old man that he was, had a gun pointed at Frank, who was being held back by Billy and another man. I groaned, and the older man raised an eyebrow at me.

“Sorry, sheriff,” I said quietly. The older man scoffed and shook his head.

“Alright! Now I don’t want no more trouble! Who started it?” the sheriff asked. Luckily, the barkeep and some of the others vouched for me. The sheriff gripped my arm and pulled me up. I groaned and clutched at my ribs and he shook his head.

“My…winnings?” I asked. The sheriff held up the wad of cash and stuck it in his pocket. He threw his arm over me and we struggled over the jail’s step. He set me down and turned my face this way and that.

“Land sakes boy, but you sure know how to stir up trouble! That your stage fare?” he asked. 

“Yes sir.”

“Good, might have paid the driver myself if you didn’t have the money for it, just to be rid of you! You need Doc Martin? He’s probably still with Ben Cartwright, but I can send somebody to fetch him if there’s a need.”

“No need, sheriff. He didn’t hurt me that bad.”

“If you say so, Mr. Armstrong. Need a walk back to your hotel?”

“No sir, good night.”

“Good night.” After he handed me my winnings, the sheriff got up from the porch and continued his rounds. I slowly stood and shuffled along the road. There was no hotel, of course. I certainly didn’t have the money for it when I came into town, and I didn’t want to waste any of my precious winnings on a hotel if I could help it. Lord only knew how long it would take me to get a job once I got back home. I picked up my bedroll and saddle bags from the stable and hauled them along with me. My ribs burned something fierce and my head pounded every few moments like the beat of a drum. I didn’t even want to consider what my face looked like. I walked as far as I could away from town and finally made it far enough to where I could see trees again. I walked a few yards off the road and settled down at the base of one scraggly pine. I drifted off to sleep after what seemed only a few moments.

The birds were singing when I woke up. My ribs were still hurting bad, and the light seemed to drive knives into my eyes. I yelped when a foot drove into my ribs. I blinked a few times only to find a somewhat familiar face looking down at me.

“Wha-?” I asked, my tongue heavy in my mouth.

“What are you doing on the side of the road?” Hop Sing asked. I tried to tell him about the fight, only to notice how very parched I was. Hop Sing, apparently noticing my predicament, went over to a wagon and came back over with a canteen.

“Thank you, Mr. Hop Sing,” I said quietly once I’d had my fill. The man only nodded before taking the canteen back. My stomach gave an angry gurgle and Hop Sing suddenly turned around to put the canteen back on the wagon, muttering to himself all the way. He came back towards me and picked up my saddlebags.

“Hey!” I protested.

“Boy, you come with me and help load the wagon. I will make you a very good lunch!” The man didn’t even allow for a response on my part, simply depositing the bags into the wagon. I quickly packed up my bedroll and soon enough we were on the way to town. It was a laughingly short ride, considering how far I’d thought I’d made it last night. It couldn’t have taken more than half an hour for us to reach the first few buildings. We met with a few stares as we rode in, but no one dared say anything. I helped Hop Sing collect the mail and a few small parcels from the store. He also got a few large sacks of flour and sugar that he loaded himself. We finished with Hop Sing’s errands and I got back onto the wagon. It appeared that the man would keep his promise.

“You work for Mr. Cartwright?” I asked.

“I have for many years,” Hop Sing said. There was a soft smile on his face, as if he was remembering good days that had long gone by.

“And….I mean, will he be alright with me coming there? I don’t want to impose on him,” I said.

“Mr. Cartwright is a fair man. He wouldn’t want you to go unpaid for your work.”

“Well, thank you kindly, Mr. Hop Sing. Only, he won’t call me Adam again will he?” I asked, “I don’t want to upset him.” 

“You didn’t upset him yesterday, Mr. Armstrong,” Hop Sing said.

“Just John, I ain’t no mister,” I said with a laugh. I winced at the pull in my ribs.

“Then you will be John, and I will be Hop Sing,” Hop Sing said, “But Mr. Cartwright’s confusion yesterday was no fault of yours.”

“Sounds fine to me, Hop Sing! But if it wasn’t anything that I did, why was he so confused? Who is Adam?”

“That story, John, would be better coming from Mr. Cartwright.” I nodded at that. I knew that I wouldn’t have the courage to ask the man such a personal question. Not that the doctor would allow a drifter like me a single step into his room. It was beginning to get into the afternoon before the trees began to thin out and I could see glimpses of a house through the branches. Soon, Hop Sing pulled the wagon up in front of the house. I dismounted, groaning when it jarred my ribs. The sun was beginning to make my head pound and I tried to pull my hat lower in order to keep it out. Hop Sing and I unloaded the wagon and another man came and led the horses away. I was escorted to a place where I could wash up and Hop Sing went to go work on lunch. I watched him bustle around the kitchen until there was the thud of boots somewhere in the house.

“Hop Sing!” a voice bellowed, “Hop Sing, get some tea for Ben would you?” Hop Sing sighed from where he was stirring something in a bowl next to the oven.

“Is the water ready? I can take Mr. Cartwright some tea since you’re busy,” I said. Hop Sing only nodded. He gestured over to the counter where there was already a teacup and packet waiting. I got the water from the stove and bore the tray to the main room. The doctor from yesterday was on the stairs gazing down expectantly. He raised an eyebrow when he saw that I was the one with the tray.

“Hop Sing invited me over for lunch after I helped him in town,” I said quietly, “He’s busy with the food.” The doctor only hummed, gesturing me up the large stairs and leading me towards a door. He glared at the object and finally held his hand out.

“I can take the tray inside,” the doctor said quietly. I only nodded. I knew that I wouldn’t be allowed inside. I handed it over and the doctor opened the door. I obviously hadn’t moved out of eyesight fast enough, as Mr. Cartwright’s voice came from inside.

“Who’s that behind you, Paul?” he asked, “It’s not Hop Sing!”

“It’s me, Mr. Cartwright,” I said quietly, “John Armstrong.” The doctor stiffened in front of me and began to enter the room. I wondered if he would slam the door in front of me. However, Mr. Cartwright would not be deterred.

“Mr. Armstrong, what a surprise! How are you doing boy?” Mr. Cartwright asked, “Go on and let him in, Paul! I could use the company!” The doctor slowly edged forward so that I could come into the room and I put my hat into my hands. I fought the urge to hiss at the afternoon light.

“Now Ben, I have to be getting back into town. Put that powder in your tea to help you sleep and don’t leave this bed for at least two weeks!” the doctor said.

“Thank you, Paul, for everything,” Cartwright said. The doctor shook hands with Cartwright and squeezed past me to leave the room. Cartwright was propped up on some pillows, with a paper spread across his thighs. He looked to be much better.

“Now! This is a pleasant surprise, Mr. Armstrong! What brings you to the Ponderosa?” Cartwright asked.

“John please, Mr. Cartwright! Well, Hop Sing found me on the road to town and asked me for some help with his errands. He invited me for lunch afterwards. I best let you get back to your tea and get going,” I said quietly. Cartwright smiled and placed the tray over on a nightstand.

“The tea can wait, John, and of course you should stay! Never let it be said that I didn’t pay a man for his work!” Cartwright said, “Now pull up a chair, it’s been quite a while since I’ve had company you know.” I silently pulled up a stuffed chair from the corner of the room and eased myself down. Apparently, I was only now close enough to Cartwright where he could see my face.

“Good Lord, boy! What happened to your face?” the man demanded, turning my face this way and that.

“It’s nothing.”

“Young man,” Cartwright said, looking at me searchingly. I fairly wilted into the chair and shortly told him what had happened the night previous. Cartwright only frowned when I told him about my winnings.

“A stage fare?”

“Yeah. I don’t think I’ll be able to find any work here, Mr. Cartwright. I think its best that I go back home. I was actually going to leave this afternoon! Perhaps it’s good that Hop Sing found me, I would have missed out on an excellent lunch I feel.”

“Yes,” Cartwright murmured, “Probably for the best.” We sat in silence for a few moments, the water growing tepid on the nightstand.

“Now!” Cartwright said, “What should we have for lunch? It’s your payment after all. I’m sure that Hop Sing will make you whatever you want.”

“Well, Mr. Cartwright, I think he was already making lunch and I’m sure whatever he makes will be wonderful…”

“What about fried chicken? It’s been some time since Hop Sing has made it, but I think it would do just the trick. What you do you think, John?”

“Fried chicken sounds good, Mr. Cartwright! That’s my favorite, actually!” I said.

“Really?” Cartwright asked. He was looking at me with something behind his eyes, almost as if he was trying to see into my soul. It seemed like I was missing something important, but Lord only knew what. Beside, many people loved fried chicken! Cartwright gave me the tray back, the water now cold, and told me to tell Hop Sing. I went down to the kitchen and found the man still bustling around.

“Hop Sing?” I asked. The man hummed, not even turning around. “Mr. Cartwright,” I said, “He said that he wants fried chicken for lunch. Oh, and he didn’t drink his tea.” Hop Sing sighed and slumped, rubbing his forehead. I went back upstairs and settled myself into the chair with Mr. Cartwright.

“Hop Sing said to tell you that you’re drinking your sleeping powder after lunch and that you shouldn’t have fried chicken. He said that you wouldn’t listen to the second one,” I said. Cartwright laughed. He began to ask me about my life in San Francisco. I carefully avoided any mention of my family. I knew that the man didn’t mean me any harm, but he’d thought I was someone else. It was probably nothing, but you could never be too careful.

“How old are you this year, John?” he asked, finally.

“I’ll be twenty-four next April,” I said.

“Twenty-four in April,” Cartwright said in a whisper. I was about to comment on this when Hop Sing came into the room. My ribs were beginning to ache even sitting down, but my stomach rumbled at the smell of the food.

“Thanks, Hop Sing,” I said, “Do you want me to go down and sit with you?” I felt guilty for abandoning the man who was so kind as to pick me up and invite me to lunch.

“Oh!” Hop Sing said, “You should sit with Mr. Cartwright! The kitchen garden needs to be watered and the weeds pulled up, so I already had a sandwich downstairs.” Before I could even reply, the man walked out the door and left me and Mr. Cartwright to our lunch. I let him dole out the food, and I didn’t comment on the fact that he gave me twice as much chicken as he had. The man was still recovering, after all.

The chicken was absolutely perfect. It was wonderfully juicy but had just the right amount of crunch to it. My head was still pounding and my ribs still ached, but the good food was beginning to fill up my stomach. Cartwright asked me a few questions during the meal, but mostly he just let me eat. It seemed only a short while later that there was only a pile of bones on the plate.

“Oh,” I said. Cartwright laughed from the bed. The two pieces that he had were untouched on the plate, and a bowl of broth was on his lap. Perhaps he’d listened to Hop Sing after all. I cleared my plate onto the tray and finally plied Cartwright with the tea once he finished the broth.

“I best be going, Mr. Cartwright,” I said. My eyes were heavy, probably a combination of the late night, battered ribs, and full stomach. Cartwright blinked at me, probably near sleep himself.

“You have a hotel, John?” he asked.

“Well…” I said. I didn’t want to lie to him, but a man needed his pride after all.

“You can stay in the guest room downstairs,” Cartwright said, “Now, I best get some rest before someone gets it into their head that I’m overdoing it.”

“Of course, Mr. Cartwright,” I said. I stood up, but obviously I was more tired than I thought. The world spun around me and I sat down heavily before I fell over. Cartwright sat up straighter in the bed and looked at my probably green face. He called for Hop Sing, and a few minutes later the man was in the room.

“Hop Sing, can you help John to Adam’s room?” he asked, “You may need to send for Paul again too.” Hop Sing slung an arm around me and stood me up. Unfortunately for both us, he squeezed my ribs a bit. Pain lanced up and down my side and I cried out. I nearly crumpled to the ground but Hop Sing was able to catch me. My vision began to grow black, and the last thing that I remembered was Cartwright yelling something that sounded a good bit like “Adam”.


	2. Interlude: Charles Armstrong I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charlie Armstrong returns home bearing news from his brother. It does not bode well.

One month later

I walked quietly into the room and shut the door. When I’d shown up at the post office and seen that there had _finally_ been word from John, I’d nearly jumped up and down for joy. It was addressed to Will of course, but I knew that whatever John had to say to Will could be said to me….probably. Besides, Will had taken a double shift at the docks and wouldn’t be back until nearly dawn. What if it was some sort of emergency? I opened the letter and nearly dropped it.

“Well big brother, who knew?” I asked. The advertisement, obviously ripped out a catalog, was for women’s undergarments. Trust big brother to send Will a randy picture when we were nearly out of money! I flipped over the picture, only to raise an eyebrow at what was on the other side. There was scribbling on the reverse side, which was nowhere near big brother’s neat writing that I’d always attempted copy when I was younger. It looked like he’d written while drunk and while riding a horse. Must be an emergency after all.

_Will,_

_Ended up in Utah Territory. I need you to come get me, brother. I think I’m in real trouble here. Need you to come quietly and immediately. Fare included in envelope for stage. Do not use real name. I’m at the Ponderosa Ranch in Virginia City. Be careful._

_John_

_P.S. Do not tell Charlie, Lord only knows what he’d do._

_P.P.S. Sorry about the picture, can’t get at any stationary._

_P.P.P.S. Not that I’m not able to write. Just not to you. Any letters addressed to Great Aunt Mildred are yours. Money for rent coming. Fairly sure mail is being read._

“Well, that’s real nice big brother, don’t tell Charlie!” I grumbled. I placed the paper on the table and picked up the envelope. Inside was nestled the biggest wad of bills I’d ever seen! I slapped a note for Will on the table, left the letter, and took the money. That evening, I was bumping along in the stage with only a small bag to my name. The ten dollars I had left weighed heavily in my pocket.

“I’m coming, big brother, don’t you worry,” I whispered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone, thank you for reading! Chapter 3 will be posted on Friday!


	3. John Armstrong II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which John Armstrong awakens from his faint and things get complicated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone, I decided to post this chapter a little bit earlier than planned. Thank you for reading and let me know what you think!

Twenty nine days earlier

Every single person in this town was crazy, plumb crazy. The doctor placed his stethoscope back inside his black bag and shut it. Behind him, Cartwright hovered not even a foot away. I was fairly sure that the man would be wringing his hands if one of them hadn’t been in a sling. At least he wasn’t clutching at my hand anymore. The man looked like I’d stabbed him when I woke up and demanded just what in the blue blazes he thought he was doing.

“Doctor?” Cartwright asked breathlessly. The doctor did not turn around, instead choosing to raise his eyes skyward before sighing. I grimaced. Cartwright had taken a great deal of convincing to remove himself from my bedside when the doctor had shown up. “Paul?” Cartwright asked, probably mistaking the doctor’s silence for a death warrant. Taking pity on the man, I cleared my throat.

“Mr. Cartwright, I fainted. No more, no less. I think I’ll be fine,” I said. The man looked down at me adoringly, probably getting ready to try and clasp my hand again, before the doctor said his piece.

“He has some good bruising on his face and chest. He took a pretty good knock to the head and has some cracked ribs. I’d say that the fainting was more exhaustion than anything. Keep him in bed for a few days, Ben, and then he’ll be right as rain.” Cartwright slumped against the door.

“Thank you, Doctor,” Cartwright said.

“That goes for you too, Ben. Go to bed before you fall over,” the doctor said, saint that he was. Cartwright actually listened, grumbling all the way. As soon as the door closed behind him, Doc Martin smiled down at me before sighing.

“You don’t think you’re Adam Cartwright,” he said.

“Do _you_ think I’m Adam Cartwright?” I asked. The man pulled up a chair and sat down.

“While you were unconscious, Ben gave three physical marks to identify you by; that birthmark in the shape of a star near your ribs, that long cut on your right arm, and that scar on your left shoulder. You match the description well enough, miraculously so, since Adam Cartwright disappeared when he was seven years old. Do you have any memories from before that time?”

“No. Ma said it was some sort of accident.”

“I bet it was,” the doctor muttered.

“That doesn’t mean that I’m him, doctor! Can’t you-can’t you tell Mr. Cartwright that I’m not him?!”

“Mr. Armstrong, you have now had the pleasure of knowing Ben Cartwright for twenty four hours. Do you really think he’d believe anything I said concerning your identity? Excepting, of course, verifying that you are who he believes you are.”

“No, sir.”

“Unfortunately, I have no evidence to attest that you are not Mr. Cartwright’s long lost son. You match the age and general physical description, and Ben certainly believes that you are Adam, despite numerous protests from you,” the man sighed.

“But-but doctor, there isn’t anything you can do? I mean, I have folks back home!” The doctor stiffened at that remark, looking down at me critically.

“Brothers?” he asked, “Twenty and eighteen years old?” At that, my gut lurched. Cartwright had asked me that too, when I woke up. This Adam probably had brothers, by the look of things. I tried to imagine that man running through the streets of San Francisco, trying to find Will and Charlie. Cartwright was certainly determined enough to be able to track them down.

“No, an elderly great aunt, actually. Great Aunt Mildred. She needs me!” I said, trying to look extremely desperate. The doctor raised an eyebrow.

“Great. Aunt. Mildred. Huh,” the man said. I winced and slumped back against the numerous pillows.

“You’re going to have to tell everyone I’m him, aren’t you?” I asked.

“Oh no! Ben will need to handle that bit of it, I’m sure he’ll make it sound extremely heartwarming.”

“Sure. Amnesiac son randomly wanders onto ranch after sixteen years for fried chicken. Wonderful story, truly heartwarming.” The doctor snorted at this.

“A word of advice, Mr. Armstrong? Believe it. According to you, you have no family except for an elderly aunt. This is a chance for a father, for a new start! What, exactly, is waiting for you in San Francisco that is so important?” the doctor asked.

“Not much, I suppose,” I said mulishly.

“Exactly! You are twenty-three years old, Mr. Armstrong, and apparently the heir to the biggest ranch in the Utah Territory. Take it as a new start.” I did not point out that this was incredibly dishonest and probably quite cruel to Mr. Cartwright.

“Right…”

“And if nothing else, you are also twenty-three years old and have every right to make your own way.”

“As if Ben Cartwright wouldn’t lock me in this room first!”

“Point. If you choose to escape in true Cartwright fashion, thus being the most dangerous and idiotic plan possible, it’s best that Ben’s guard is down.”

“Thank you, doctor,” I said, extending my hand.

“Mr. Cartwright,” the man said.

“Adam, please.”

“Adam then. Good luck.” With that, he closed the door. I sighed and leaned back against the pile of pillows Cartwright had propped behind me. Perhaps the man was right, it would be best if Cartwright’s guard was down before I made my move. Regardless, it’d be close shave to get to San Francisco and get everyone packed before I got tracked down. We’d have to move out of the territory and change our names. With thoughts of how I was going to convince my brothers to up-heave our lives, I drifted off to sleep.


	4. Interlude II: Benjamin Cartwright I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Ben Cartwright and Doc Martin have a conversation.

I barely dared to breathe as I sat in my room. The coffee that Hop Sing had set on the nightstand was growing colder by the second, but I found myself not daring to make any noise. Suddenly, there was the sound of footsteps out in the hall and my door slowly eased open. Paul Martin closed the door softly behind him and settled himself in the chair beside my bed.

“Well?” I whispered. 

“Keep it down, Ben, land sakes!” he hissed. I merely raised an eyebrow. “He’s still not truly convinced.”

“Hm. He’s a true Cartwright, stubbornness and all.”

“Agreed. Doesn’t have any memories before age seven, Mother claims that there was some sort of an accident.”

“And Joe, Hoss?”

“No mention of either of them. He only talked about some Great Aunt called Mildred in San Francisco, said that’s why he’s all fired up about not staying.” I grunted, it was something to look into, at least.

“Anything else?” I asked. Paul Martin shifted in the chair.

“Ben, I’m a doctor. The boy is over eighteen and has a right to his secrets, the only reason I’m telling you any of this is because you’re caring for him.”

“Paul, please, he’s my son! I have to know if there’s anything wrong!”

“Alright, alright, keep it down! The only reason I’m saying anything is because he’s probably going to hurt himself in an extraordinary fashion doing this. He’ll probably try to run off on you, Ben.” I winced internally. Yes, the boy was probably going to hurt himself trying to escape.

“Thank you, Paul, for everything.” He clapped me on the shoulder.

“Just have patience, Ben. I’m here if you need me.” With that, he finally got up and left. I picked up my journal and dipped the pen in the ink. I scrawled “Possible Escape Attempts” on the top of the page and sighed, bringing up my memories of when I was his age. Never let it be said that a Cartwright was not prepared for all possibilities.


	5. Interlude III: William Armstrong I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which William Armstrong comes home from his double shift to empty rooms.

Twenty nine days later 

Charlie’s bed was empty. At three in the morning. Land sakes, if I didn’t have enough to do with pulling double shifts because John hadn’t written yet, worrying because John hadn’t written yet, and keeping us fed, there was this!

“Charlie?” I whispered, “This ain’t funny little brother!” I shook my head before heading over to the table. There should have had been some bread on a plate if Charlie hadn’t eaten it. The bread was unfortunately gone, but there was a note on the table.

_Will,_

_Got word from John. Heading to Ponderosa Ranch in Virginia City (or near, city probably does not have ranch). Please open letter to Great Aunt Mildred that came in the post today. Will be back with John when I can, be ready to move._

_Charlie_

_P.S. Please don’t burn the picture. I’m going to rankle John about this for at least a year._

“Wha-what picture?!” I asked. Suddenly, I noticed that there was picture of women’s underthings on the table, along with a letter to Great Aunt Mildred that wasn’t opened. The picture of women’s underthings had a note scrawled on the back. 

“Damn it John,” I hissed, “What have you gotten yourself into now?” Well, whatever I was, older brother (and probably baby brother now, too) was depending on me to get him out of it. I opened the letter to Great Aunt Mildred, reading through it quickly. There wasn’t anything of importance in the letter itself, but the fifty dollars in the envelope would certainly help things along.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for reading, feel free to let me know what you thought! Next chapter will be posted on Saturday.


	6. John Armstrong III (Alternatively: Five Times where Adam Nearly Escaped and One Plan that Might Actually Work)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which John Armstrong makes his move(s).

I: By Horse (Twenty days earlier)

“I would like to buy a horse,” I said. I waved a fistful of cash in front of the man. The man in front of me, hopefully not the stable owner, whimpered. “I have here fifty dollars, with which I would like to buy a horse,” I said. The man backed away, as if I’d just told him that I had a barrel of fifty rattlesnakes. “You do own this fine stable, yes?” I asked. The man nodded. He looked like he’d rather get trampled by a horse than sell me one.

“Adam?” a voice asked, “You here, son?” The stable owner’s face lit up and he sagged.

“Yes Pa, I’m here,” I said. It was the first time the man had brought me to town, I shouldn’t be surprised that he’d found me after I’d “wandered” off. Cartwright walked into the stable, looking around as if he didn’t know exactly where I was.

“Afternoon, Mr. Samuels,” Cartwright said.

“Afternoon, Mr. Cartwright. Adam here was just tryin’ to buy a horse,” the man said. He made it sound as if I’d just attempted to burn the place down. Cartwright hummed before sticking both of his hands on his belt.

“Well, son, you do need a horse. I wanted this to wait for a few weeks for a surprise. You see, I wanted you to pick a horse out our own herd,” Cartwright said.

“Yeah, ain’t nothing like Ponderosa horses around these parts! You’re Pa’ll get you a horse that’s a mile better than these here!” Samuels said. Of course he would. The thing would probably be trained to turn around as soon as it saw a property line.

“Well, I wouldn’t say that Ed, I mean this is a mighty fine…” Cartwright said, asking after a few of the horses in the stable. Ed walked along with him, and I thought I saw Cartwright slip the man a few bills. A bribe, then.

II: By Stage (Fifteen days Earlier)

I braced myself. This probably wouldn’t work. However, it wouldn’t hurt to try. “One ticket to San Francisco, please,” I said. The clerk in the stage office gulped. I slipped the thirty dollars towards the man. The fact that this was a little under two weeks’ “allowance” was fascinating in a horrible way.

“I’m sorry sir, we’re full up,” he said. At least he was polite about it. I slipped a twenty on the pile. The man whimpered.

“Listen, Mister, you have to sell me this ticket! I’m supposed to be getting a beer right now, and I don’t know how much longer he’ll be at the bank!” I hissed. There was no need to mention who he was. The man didn’t move, though he got very pale.

“How much is he paying you?” I asked with a sigh.

“Hundred dollars a month.” I was about to comment on how completely absurd that was before a hand clapped down on my shoulder.

“Son! Are we going on a trip?” Cartwright asked.

“Well, we have that Cattleman’s Conference in Arizona in two months. Thought I’d see how much it would be for the two of us to go,” I said. I glared at the man, who quickly nodded.

“Yes Mr. Adam, like I was saying, it should be about two hundred dollars to the city you gave me,” the man said, somehow keeping a tone of professionalism despite his terror.

“Wonderful idea son, sounds like it’d be a good vacation,” Cartwright said, “Did you get your beer? I’m a little thirsty myself.”

III: By Lawful Escort (Twelve Days Earlier)

“….So you see sheriff, I really am desperate here. Remember that day I almost got hung? You said that you’d put me on a stage!” I said. I looked at the man, attempting to blink up at him with the eyes that Charlie used when he’d done something especially bad. The man ran a hand through his hair.

“You want me to put you on a stage at nine at night?” the man asked.

“I could always stay in a hotel until the next one, just so long as you put me on it.”

“Boy,” he sighed as he ran a hand through his hair, “You were John Armstrong then. I can’t let Adam Cartwright run off without a word. Not in the shape you’re in. Your Pa would tear through the entire territory to find you, and that ain’t the kind of trouble I need.”

“What shape am I in, sheriff?” I asked. The man slipped a newspaper towards me.

_Adam Cartwright Returns Home After Sixteen Years!_

The article was actually fairly well written, considering. The sheriff placed a cup of coffee in front of me. The man probably thought I was confused or some such nonsense. Obviously, I wasn’t going to be leaving town through traditional methods.

“I think I’d best be getting home now, sheriff,” I rasped, “Thank you.” The sheriff quietly bade me good night and I walked out of the jail to where my horse was tethered outside. Cartwright had actually been true to his word, taking me out and letting me pick out a horse a few days ago. Sport was a beautiful animal, not that it was much consolation.

IV: By A Watercraft that’s Probably Going to Sink (Eight Days Earlier)

Doc Martin glared down at me as I lay in the bed. Cartwright was hovering next to me and gripping my hand. I didn’t have the strength or the will to tell him off for it.

“Was it as idiotic but brilliant as I think it was?” he asked. I nodded.

“He was going to cross Lake Tahoe,” Cartwright said in a stern voice, “On a log raft.”

“How long until it sunk?” Martin asked.

“Didn’t. Bushwhackers,” I said in a raspy voice before I coughed.

“One of the hands saw it all. Said he was crossing the small lake on the property before the bushwhackers found him. Adam was grazed on the arm and fell off the raft,” Cartwright said. Martin only hummed before asking Cartwright to help him pull down my shirt. I’d spent four days building that raft with logs, mud, some twine, and desperation. It was probably a miracle that it hadn’t gone under in the first minute, not that Cartwright would injure my pride by saying this.

+1: By Mail (Seven Days Earlier)

“Are you sure you’re alright, son?” Cartwright asked.

“Sure, Pa. I didn’t even swallow that much water, and the bullet was just a graze,” I said, “Besides, you said that I needed new shirts.” Cartwright sighed and didn’t comment on this. I only had two shirts when I came to Virginia City. The first had been ripped apart by Cartwright and Martin in their panic after I’d fainted on that second day. The second could barely be considered a shirt with how ragged it was. I was currently wearing one of Cartwright’s.

“I suppose you do. We’re only going to the general store and back, no funny business.”

“Sure, Pa.” He brought me into the store and soon enough two shirts were picked out. There wasn’t too much of a selection and I was flipping through a catalog that the general store had. The catalog, which was made of paper, and thus was something to write on.

“Hey, Pa?” I asked.

“Yes, son?”

“I’m getting kind of tired. Maybe I could take a catalog home to see what else there is? If that’s alright, of course.” Cartwright instantly put the purchases on the counter along with the catalog. In the end, salvation was only a penny. He hustled me out of the general store and helped me back onto the wagon.

“Home?” I asked.

“Yes. Besides, I have that lumber contract to look over. Alpheus Troy is getting desperate, I’ll give him that. Not that I’ll give him two million feet of lumber, of course,” Cartwright said.

“Two million?!” I asked. The entire way home, Cartwright talked about how important trees were to mines, but also to the land. That night, I tore out a sheet from the catalog in a place I knew Cartwright wouldn’t look and bribed one of the hands to send it via express.

V: By Tree (Three Days Earlier)

I was desperate. Thoughts of escape pervaded every second throughout my day until I was ready to tear my hair out. Finally, I had my plan. If this didn’t work, I was out of options. I would probably have to resign myself to remaining here and sending money to Great Aunt Mildred for the rest of my life. I would probably have to make up a cousin or two to explain away her longevity. I silently placed my boots on my feet and stood up. I felt guilty for stealing the horses and wagon from Cartwright, but needs must. I left every penny I could spare on the bed with a note explaining how I’d leave the wagon in the next town over. From there I could catch the stage. I opened the window and got myself through the sill. Once I was steady, I jumped and wrapped myself around the branch of a tree that sat outside my window. Unfortunately, I was not as small as Charlie. The branch gave an ominous creak and I whimpered. I looked up and down, and there were no thicker branches to be found. There was a crack and I yelped. Thuds came from inside and a light came on in bedroom.

“Adam? What in tarnation is that noise?” Cartwright asked from the room, “Adam?!” This last was laced with panic, probably because he’d found the money and the note. There was the sound of running and a banging from the window. The branch creaked again and began to bend.

“Adam!” Cartwright cried. I could see him at the window now, and he could obviously see me. It was too far a drop to the ground, I’d break a bone if I didn’t’ snap my neck. The tree was too thick for me to shimmy down and a thicker branch was a few yards away.

“Jump boy, back to the house, I have you!” Cartwright cried. He was nearly hanging out the window now, dangling his hands as far out as they could go. With a cry, I jumped and reached out my hands as far as I could. My forearms were caught in a bruising grip and I was hauled up through the window somehow. Arms circled around me and crushed me into a chest. Cartwright’s heart was thundering below me, and I was panting myself.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, almost unbidden.

“A month,” the man said in a rasp.

“What?” I asked.

“I want you to give me one more month to _try_ , Adam. No more escape attempts. After that, I’ll put you on a stage to San Francisco myself if that’s where you want to go,” he said.

“Great Aunt Mildred needs me,” I said softly. Perhaps she didn’t. Or I could stop lying to Cartwright and tell him that my siblings weren’t dead.

“I’m sure she does, son. I’m sure she does.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading everyone, next chapter and a short epilogue will be put up next Saturday. Feel free to let me know what you think!


	7. Charles Armstrong II (Alternatively: The Great Carlisle Heist)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Charles Armstrong arrives in Virginia City and things get complicated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone, thank you for reading and feel free to let me know what you thought!

One Week Later

I jumped down off the stage and held my hand out to an old lady that was inside. After getting her bag down for her, I grabbed my own and looked around. The place was dusty, but it seemed like it was nice enough. I walked over to the saloon and sat down at the bar.

“Get me a beer,” I said. The barkeep nodded and soon enough I was sipping it. Once I was finished, the barkeep took my coin and was about to walk away before I cleared my throat.

“Yes?” the man asked.

“I’m new to town, Mister. I’m looking for a Ponderosa Ranch,” I said.

“The Cartwright place? That’s about twenty miles east of Virginia City. What business do you have out there?”

“Heard they were hiring.” The man nodded before going back to his business. I was about to leave when an older man came in. He had a nice tan jacket on and hat, it seemed like he had money. I fought the urge to fall over in my seat, or run over, when I saw who was behind him. John didn’t seem like he was too badly off. It actually seemed that he had some new clothes! The two of them sat down a few seats away and both got a beer. The older man was busy talking to the barkeep and I quietly cleared my throat. John’s eyes widened when he saw me. I silently shook my head and he turned away immediately. I pulled the brim of my hat down and sauntered out as casually as I could. I walked over to the livery, where there was a man mucking stalls.

“How much to rent a horse for three days?” I asked. Might as well rent for more time than I needed, just to be safe.

“Five dollars,” the man said. I handed over the money and tacked one up. I saw John and the man getting into a wagon a ways down the street, and I waited about fifteen minutes before I started following. Big brother didn’t look too badly off, but it was better safe than sorry.

I followed the wagon tracks until I could see a house in the distance. I steered the horse off the track and settled down. I waited until well after nightfall and crept up towards the house. There were no lights on and no sounds from the outside. I slowly made my way over to the sloped roof of the porch and jumped. I was able to haul myself up and I crept towards a window. I quietly slid it up and got inside the empty room. I went into the hallway, eased open the next door on the right, and sighed in relief. John was asleep in the bed and there was no one else in the room. I shut the door as quietly as I could and crept towards the bed. I shook his shoulder gently and he immediately started.

“Quiet older brother!” I said, “Don’t wanna wake the whole house!” He nodded.

“What are you doing here?!” he hissed.

“You were the one who asked Will to come!” John started to throw on his clothes and tug on his boots. He’d gotten everything on and was starting to come towards the door when he banged his shin on something. He hissed, but that certainly wasn’t the end of our problems. There was a creak from down the hall and suddenly a light appeared from under the door.

“Adam?” a loud voice asked, “Adam what’s going on?”

“Hide!” John said.

“What? There’s nowhere to hide!” I said. I grabbed our gun from its holster. It was an old thing, it had actually been Pa’s, and we only had the one (John had gotten a new one and left the old for Will when he went away). I was just glad that I’d remembered to grab it before I left.

“Pa’s gun? What do you think you’re gonna do with that?” The footsteps were coming closer.

“Adam Cartwright, I thought we agreed, no more of these foolish escapades!” the voice said.

“Get in front of me!” I said.

“What?” John asked. I hefted the gun in front of his face. It was the bravest plan I could think of, the stupidest, and probably the only shot I had. That is, if the old man liked John. Which he probably didn’t. John slid in front of me.

“Just act like I’m dangerous,” I said. John nodded. The door opened and in stepped the man from earlier. He was in a house coat and slippers. I clicked the hammer back and hefted the gun up under John’s chin.

“Adam,” the man said. Who was Adam?

“Pa,” John said. What on Earth was going on?! John said that he needed rescue, not that he’d found a family!

“What’s going on here?” the man asked, “What are you doing on my property?”

“Well, Mr. Carlisle…” I said. John stepped back and trod on my foot lightly. Carter…Cameron….Cartwright? Cartwright! “Mr. Cartwright,” I said, “I am here for money, obviously. Because I am a thief. And a notorious kidnapper.”

“What?! What is that you want? How much?” the man asked. His hands were shaking. What was an extremely large sum of money? How much was not shooting a person worth?

“Uhhhh….one hundred dollars,” I said.

“What?” John hissed. The older man nodded.

“That’s in the safe downstairs, which I can open right now. You’re welcome to anything in it,” Cartwright said. Of course. The man was in a house coat and slippers, he was obviously well off! He probably owned a million acres and had a carriage drawn by white horses.

“Thousand! Yes, one hundred thousand dollars!” I said. The man paled. Good, that shouldn’t be in the safe then.

“I don’t…” the man said, “I don’t have one hundred thousand dollars. Not here!” He tried to take a step closer and I shoved the gun up higher.

“Well, I’ll just take him with me then!” I said. Finally, we appeared to be getting to the part where we could get on our horses and leave!

“No!” the man said, “You’ll not take my son from this room!” His voice was a bellow at the end. I was not ashamed to admit that I was more than a little intimidated.

“I will! And you won’t stop me because I’ll shoot him!” I said, “Now, move aside!” The man, red-faced and shaking, backed into the hallway. I walked John out the doorway and down the stairs.

“The money, where will I put it?” the man asked. He was following right behind us.

“I’ll tell you that later!” I said. We were at the front door. “Go bring me a horse from the barn, unless you want him to walk!” I said. The man quickly rushed to the barn and came out leading a horse.

“Adam, you’ll be alright son,” Cartwright said earnestly.

“Sure, Pa,” John said.

“And you….,” he said.

“John…John Smith,” I said. Obviously, I couldn’t give the man my real name, though most kidnappers probably wouldn’t give a name at all. Oh well.

“John Smith, if you hurt that boy, I’ll hunt you down the ends of the earth. I’ll hunt you down and I’ll kill you,” Cartwright said and I nodded. It seemed like an appropriate thing to do. John got up on the horse and I climbed up behind him. My horse was numerous yards away, so I couldn’t go get it and keep a gun trained on John.

“Up the road!” I hissed, “My horse is up there!” John goaded the horse and we left the man in the dust. Or not. He probably waited in the yard for about five minutes and followed us.

“Does he really believe he’s your Pa? Well, our Pa?” I asked.

“He’s pretty convinced. He’ll have a posse out for us in an hour. By the by, one hundred dollars, really?!” John asked.

“Shut up!” We finally got to where my animal was stashed and I mounted up.

“We can catch the stage in Virginia City in the morning,” John said, “Cartwright probably expects you to stash me in a cave or something.” I shrugged. It probably wouldn’t work, but it was worth a try. Besides, the horse had to go back to the stables. We only made it about half an hour before we could hear the sound of hooves ahead of us.

“I thought you said it would be an hour!” I said.

“It can’t be a posse! Besides, how did Cartwright get there before us, fly?” John asked, “It ain’t the posse, Charlie. Get off the road, don’t let them see you!” Well, older brother knew what was best, I supposed. Besides, he’d probably drag me off the horse and to cover if I didn’t do as he asked. I steered the horse as far into the trees as I could and pulled behind the biggest one I could see. I couldn’t really hear what exactly was being said, but they were definitely yelling. I watched as one of the riders raised his gun and clubbed my brother on the back of the head. John slumped over and one of the riders caught him as he started to tumble out of the saddle. They were off at a gallop before I could even holler.

I sat there for a few minutes, pondering how this could have gone so very wrong. Now John was actually kidnapped, and Cartwright would probably rush to the bank first thing and draw out one hundred thousand dollars. Then, he’d shoot me when I didn’t give him his “son”. There was only one thing for it. I certainly couldn’t take on a bunch of riders by myself and there was only one person in the territory who would help me rescue John. By the time I made it back to the ranch house, it was near dawn. I tied the horse to a post and walked up to the door as quietly as I could. I could hear the thud of footsteps from inside the house, Cartwright was probably waiting impatiently for the bank to open. Not that one hundred thousand dollars would help anything. I placed my hat in my hands and combed my fingers through my curls. I knocked on the door and heard as the footsteps drew closer. The door was thrown open, only for Cartwright to stop and stare down at me.

“Good morning,” I said. Cartwright continued to stare. “Listen, I know we met in the worst way possible, but can I come in?” I asked. Cartwright nodded. I sat in one of the chairs by the fireplace, Cartwright looming over me.

“Where is my son? Did you leave him somewhere? Of course you left him somewhere, you’re here! Why are you here, Mr. Smith?” Cartwright demanded.

“Well, first off, my name isn’t John Smith,” I said. Cartwright raised an eyebrow, he probably already knew that. “Second off, your son shouldn’t be going anywhere; not with how it looked when I left him,” I said. Cartwright grew red at this, stepping forward and clenching his fists. “He’s fine!” I said with a yelp, “He can’t go anywhere but is completely safe! Probably! He was fine when he left!”

“Then where, _Mr. Smith_ , is my son now? What have you done with Adam?” he demanded.

“Well, it’s kind of funny, actually! I didn’t mean to kidnap him!” I said with a hysterical laugh. This was not going well.

“You mean you showed up in my son’s room in the middle of the night with no ill intentions?” the man asked.

“Well, yeah!” I said, “Listen mister, maybe I’d best just start at the beginning!” I said.

“Maybe you’d better,” the man said. Thus, the entire story came out. When I finally got to the part about John being my brother and that it wasn’t a real kidnapping after all, the man slowly sat down.

“You’re John’s brother?” he asked.

“Yeah. I’m Charlie Armstrong!” I said as I held out my hand. The man shook it with a blank look on his face.

“And where is your brother now, Joseph?” he asked. I didn’t point out that my name wasn’t Joseph. It had been a long night, the man was probably extremely confused. I was extremely confused.

“Well, that’s the thing, Mr. Cartwright. Looks like he actually got kidnapped,” I said.

“What?!” the man asked, “Why didn’t you say that in the first place, who took your brother?” He flew out of his seat and took a step forward, almost as if he wanted to grab my shoulders and shake them. I stuttered out what happened after we’d gotten on the road and the man began to pace in front of the fireplace.

“We’ll have to look in town first,” the man said quietly.

“You mean you’ll help me?” I asked.

“Charlie, I assume that your brother got word to you somehow. Did he ever tell you why he’s been here?” he asked.

“No, Mr. Cartwright. I mean, he just said that it was an emergency and to come quietly to get him,” I said. Cartwright laid his head in his hands.

“Yes, yes I’ll help you. Mark my words Charlie, the three of us are going to have a very serious conversation once this is all over,” the man said with a sigh.

“Yes, Mr. Cartwright,” I said, trying my best to appear as if I was actually excited for the upcoming “conversation”. Truth was, John would probably enjoy it much less than I would.

“So, you said we should start looking in town. Are you gonna go get the sheriff?” I asked. Cartwright stopped his pacing and grinned at me. “No sheriff then. Sounds fine by me, Mr. Cartwright!” Just so long as this man helped me get John back. My horse was already outside and he quickly led another out of the barn. He’d probably saddled it five minutes after I led John out of his room. We started off into town and Cartwright turned towards me, his face like a thundercloud.

“And just what were you thinking, young man; breaking into someone’s home and pointing a gun! I could have shot you!” the man said. I didn’t have it in me to remind him that the “serious conversation” was supposed to come later.

\---

In the end, it worked out fine. We were all lined up on the settee, the three of us. It was a nice place Cartwright had, the man wasn’t too bad in a fight either. The cook, Hop Sing, had already been kind enough to spread a sheet over the nice settee. Wouldn’t want to ruin the fancy cushions. The door opened and a man with a black bag set his hat on the hook. He went and stood in front of us with a raised eyebrow.

“Idiotic but brilliant?” he asked.

“Yeah, doc,” John said.

“Of course. Ben, I would say that I should look at that cut on your head first. However, I know that you’d never let yourself be anything but last, so you’ll hold this cloth to that until I’m ready for you. Now, who’s this?” he asked as he handed Cartwright a white cloth.

“John?” Cartwright asked.

“This, gentlemen, is Charles Armstrong,” John said.

“Are you sure that your name’s not Mildred? I must say that you look extremely young for a great aunt. You wear your years well, ma’am,” the doctor said.

“No mister, that’s my brother, John Armstrong!” I said, “John, what’s going on? Who are these people?” Cartwright looked expectantly at John.

“Well, you see baby brother, Cartwright says that I’m his son. Seems like he has the proof to back it up. My name’s Adam Cartwright, Charlie. So that would make you….” John said.

“Joseph,” Cartwright said, “Joseph Cartwright.” He was looking at me now, and his eyes were suspiciously shiny. He made to lean forward, probably to embrace both of us, only for the doctor to point at his shoulder.

“No jostling that arm!” the doctor said sternly, “Don’t think I don’t see you favoring it, Benjamin Cartwright!”

“So, does this mean that we’re staying? I mean, we just left Will in San Francisco!” I said.

“Well, I mean…” John said.

“Adam already promised me three more weeks, Joseph. You’re more than welcome to stay for that time. Who is Will, Adam?”

“Well, that would be my older brother and _Adam’s_ younger brother,” I said. John/Adam glared at me from his place next to me. Cartwright was glaring at him much better than he was glaring at me. Just then, the doctor got finished with John and came over to me. He poured something from a bottle onto a cloth and pressed it against the cut on my arm. I yelped. Just then, there was a thunderous bang on the door. There was one more, and the thing fairly flew six inches before skidding to a stop on the floor. A huge figure loomed in the door way, rifle pointed straight at us. I yelled a bit.


	8. Epilogue: William Armstrong II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the story comes to an end.

The dang stage was so slow that I was tempted to just get out and walk. First one of the horses had gotten something in its shoe, and then a wheel had broken. All in all, we were a day late when we finally pulled into Virginia City. It was still pretty early and the town was quite, not that I was complaining. I went over to the general store and bought a good rifle with some of my spare money and got a horse. John said he was at someplace called the Ponderosa, and I figured that was a good enough place to start looking. It was a large spread, it seemed, and it took me a few hours to finally get to the house. There was a buggy out front and three horses. I crept over to a window and saw that my two brothers were sitting on a settee with an older man. Someone was looming over them and wrapping a bandage around John’s arm. After a few minutes, there was a yelp from Charlie. I supposed that there was no time to be wasted in being polite and brought my boot up. If John said we were in trouble, then we were in trouble. I kicked once against the door and then a second time. After the second, the door fairly flew off the hinges and slid a little ways into the house. I advanced with the rifle.

Inside, the man that was pressing a cloth to Charlie’s arm was staring at me. John was the closest to me and had his head in hands. Charlie was trying to wriggle away from the cloth. The older man at the far end of the settee was gaping at me like a fish. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, but nothing came out. I stepped farther inside. The man in front put the cloth down and put his hands on his hips with a sigh. Charlie tried to make a break for it, but John grabbed his arm. Before I could ask what in tarnation was going on here, the man in front cleared his throat.

“Great Aunt Mildred, I presume?”

End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone for reading! Please feel free to let me know what you thought!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Chapter 2 will be posted in sometime today and Chapter 3 next Friday. Let me know what you think.


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